


(Don't) Waste My Time

by readersanonymous (fanficprince)



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fear of Death, In Time!AU, Reader-Insert, Suspense, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-07-25 19:51:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7545741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanficprince/pseuds/readersanonymous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by the movie, In Time. Michael only has 90 minutes left to live...until you come banging on his door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So...here we are again...I'm very behind on my other fics because the other day I rewatched In Time and well...this happened... 
> 
> ENJOY!!!! :DDD

Michael wakes up too fast today. Though, when doesn't he do things fast? His head is throbbing from the sudden burst awake. Today was payday. He quickly glances down at his left wrist, where his time was promptly displayed in a futuristic green font.

_ Three hours, seven minutes, forty-eight seconds. _

He was meeting with Ray, his employer this job, to grab two months. He hated his work, but it gave him the most time out of any of the day jobs in Jersey. Since, well, it wasn't a day job. It was more of a midnight operation, the kind where only one person comes out alive. Normally, it's Michael. He’s been lucky. 

Michael looks up at the clock on his wall. He doesn't like to check real time often, since it's hardly ever relevant anymore. 10:30PM. The earliest he’s woken up in weeks. Michael sleeps during the day because his work keeps him up all night. 

Speaking of work, Michael picks up his crummy cellphone that he had bought with a month, another reason why he was running low on time. 

“You gotta have a fucking phone if you're gonna be in this kind of business,” he says in a snotty voice, mimicking a past employer who made a big deal about how he couldn't contact Michael easily. “Come on, Ray, pick up your phone.”

“The number you have dialed-”

“FUCK,” Michael presses hard against the end call button and tossed his phone to the ground. He massages his temples as his mind goes through all the possibilities on why Ray isn't answering the phone.

Then, it hits him. 

Michael practically leaps off his bed and doesn't even care to change out of his sweats. He doesn't have the time. He sprints out of his apartment and straight for where he knew Ray lived. He took the extra time to follow Ray home after their deal, making sure he knew where his employer lived just in case.

“He better not be fucking bailing on me,” Michael says under his breath as he pushes through a crowd of people, who are carrying items for sale in order to get more time. It was almost closing time for those pawn shops. The people there, they were running low, probably won't make it until morning if they don't pawn.

When he finally reaches Ray’s apartment complex, he checks his time again.

_ Two hours, thirty-two minutes, five seconds. _

“Where is it, where is it,” Michael scans the apartments, looking for the right one. “Here it is.”

He starts to bang on the door, yelling Ray’s name. He knew it was this apartment. Number 5. It was fresh in his memory. Why wasn't anyone answering?

“Come on Ray,” Michael screams. “I did what you asked, now fucking pay up!”

It wasn't an easy job either. Well worth more than two months, but Michael took it because he needed time, fast. His rent was due tomorrow and his landlord just upped it to a month. He wasn't going to have any bullshit. 

Michael takes a deep breath and then rams his entire body against the door, successfully busting it open. Michael blinks. He blinks again. And again. But the image he sees before him is the same.

The apartment is empty. Not a single thing in sight, just hardwood floors and the average apartment layout. 

He could feel the blood boiling in his veins, the sound of his heart pounding in his chest, the anger building up inside of him. But there was also something else. It hit him harder than the anger. It was the sudden realization that he was going to die. 

_ Two hours, seventeen minutes, fifty-three seconds. _

“The tenant who lived here moved out,” a voice calls to Michael as he stands hopelessly in the middle of an empty apartment. “Young fellow, bit of a rush to head out of town. Broke the lease.”

Michael glances over his shoulder at the man, presumably the landlord, “How much was the fine?”

“Two months,” he responds. “Hefty fine but the lad paid it. Moved out in less than a day. Guess he didn't have the-”

“Time,” Michael says, almost shoving the man out of his way as he starts to sprint back to his apartment. He didn't want to argue with the man about how he probably has to pay for that door to be fixed because quite frankly, he, too, did not have the time. 

He needed time, fast. He didn't care if he couldn't pay rent, he just wanted to make it until morning. In the morning, he could take out a loan. But at midnight, those places are closed. Why? Because people would steal the time if they were open later. 

Michael ran through his mind all the possibly valuable things he owned that he could sell. He never bought anything of value nor did anyone leave anything behind of value for him. He never got to meet his parents. They couldn't survive the 25 years it took for his time to start counting down. He understands why now. He could barely survive a year with the time winding down.

“My 26th birthday,” he says, again under his breath, “it's in two weeks.”

When you're born, you receive one year. It doesn't start counting down until you're 25. At 25, you stop aging. You’re permanently in the body of the 25 year old you, regardless of how many real years you’ve lived. Now, you understand why Michael’s situation is so sad.

Michael fumbles his key and curses, managing to open his door. He grabs the most valuable things he can think of and runs to the nearest pawn shop. 

Which is closed.

He runs to the next one. Closed. The one up the street. Closed. The one two blocks down. Closed.

His heart sunk in his chest. The pain that was consuming him was a mixture of despair and fear. He did horrible things to get those two months and now, he not only doesn't have those two months, he doesn't even get to live until his birthday. 

_ One hour, fifty-three minutes, twelve seconds. _

Michael walks back to his apartment, opens the bottle of whiskey he was going to pawn off, and just starts drinking it straight from the bottle. He got that bottle from a job. 

“A gift,” he says in an Italian accent, “for a job well done.”

He lays down on his bed and sighs. He rolls up his sleeve, giving him a full view of his time.

_ One hour, forty-five minutes, thirty-seven seconds. _

“There's nothing I can do but wait the time out,” Michael takes another swig of his whiskey. “No hope left.”

Michael contemplates how he should go. Maybe he should go back to sleep, at least it’ll be peaceful. But then again, what if he can't go to sleep and his last moments are wasted trying to fall asleep? Maybe he should go out and fuck someone. Yeah, going out with a bang. But no one is going to be willing. And hookers know he can't pay. 

“Fuck!” Michael groans. 

_ One hour, thirty-nine minutes- _

“Help!” A voice catches Michael’s ear, which is accompanied by banging on his neighbor’s door. “I don't know where I am and I don't have much time left, please help!”

There weren't many units in his apartment complex, so it wasn't long before the voice reached him. 

“Please help me, I need some time, please just spare me some time,” the voice says into his door, sobbing. 

“We all need time, sister,” Michael spits back at the voice, assuming it's a woman. “We all need time.”

“Please, I only need a few minutes,” her voice is so helpless, so desperate. If he had the time...if only he had the time… He only had enough time to let her tell her story. 

“These men, they took me from my home and stole my time, please, I just need some more time,” he hears her sniffle and sob against his door. 

“What are you going to do, go after them?” Michael replies. 

“I’ll find someone to go after them,” she responds back to him in such a strong, passionate voice, catching him by surprise. “There must be mercenaries in this town. I just need enough time to hire one.”

“Well you got one,” Michael laughs. He was dead anyways, who cares who knew what he did for a living. He walks up to his door, leaning against it, “Michael Jones, nighttime mercenary. But sorry, I’m not looking for any jobs right-”

“I’ll pay you 100 years,” the voice says. 


	2. Chapter 2

It was quick. But not painless. You were practically ripped out of your home and thrown into a trunk of a car. You couldn't scream, the cloth around your mouth prevented that. 

Not like anyone could hear you otherwise. And for the first time in your life, you were worried about your time. You were adopted into a wealthy family, so you always had too much time. But today, being tied up in such a way that your wrist was exposed and practically inches away from your face, all you could see was the time ticking down.

It was a lot of time. The men who took you, they didn't take any of your time yet. What were they waiting for? You asked much too soon.

It was maybe two hours after they had taken you that they popped open the trunk and pulled you out. You were in the middle of nowhere. The moon was high in the sky. The men who kidnapped you, dressed in black suits and masks, carried you over to another car. The cars they had were solid black, while the other car they were leading you too was much older, a bit beat up, and the driver was not wearing a suit but a torn up shirt and jeans. 

“I want my payment first before I accept this job,” the driver lends his wrist forward. “I gotta see it to believe it.”

One of the men in suits laughs and forcefully grabs your wrist, draining your time. 

“Here you go, ten years,” the man in the suit says to the driver. Then the man turns to you, taking out a device, and untying the cloth around your mouth, “and now, for our portion.”

“You won't get away with this!” You scream, “my family will find you and-”

“Now, now,” the man’s voice interrupts you. “Who do you think hired us?”

“You take that back,” you say sternly.

“You really think I'm lying? How the hell do you think we got in? We were invited in,” the man slowly drains the time away. You can still see it and as the number drop, so does the feeling in your body. 

“That's not true,” you say, less confidently.

“Your family has been trying to get rid of you ever since you got a portion of their wealth on your 25th birthday,” the man finishes taking all your time. “Now we’re bringing it back to them while driving you far, far away.”

_ One hour, fifty-two minutes, nine seconds. _

“Why would they-” before you can finish your question, you’re gagged again by a cloth and tossed into the trunk of the other car. 

Before the trunk closes, you catch a glimpse of the license plate on one of the black cars. It’s forever etched into your memory. The trunk closes and you're left with your time, dwindling down. 

You had heard stories of cases like this. Children of wealthy families being kidnapped, taken for their time and then transported off to the poor time zones. Their bodies always ended up there. The people there had no sympathy for a rich kid who just so happened to be running out of time. There were stories of how they begged to be saved, but no one would hear their plea. Because the people there were always running out of time. 

_ Two minutes, eight seconds. _

It was at this time that you were let out of the trunk. The driver pulls out a gun, takes off the safety and tells you to turn around. He undoes your restraints and you turn back around to face him. He was still pointing the gun at you. 

“Give me your wrist,” he says. 

Your heart was pounding and you were afraid he was going to take more of your time but you were dead either way so you listen. He gives you eight minutes. 

_ Ten minutes exactly _ .

“I’m so sorry that this had to happen to you, but we all need time. You got less than ten minutes, go find some for yourself. That's more than most kids get,” the driver nods his head and lowers his gun. 

“Thank you,” you say as the man gets into his car. 

“What that man said, about your family. No kid deserves to hear that,” the man starts his engine then looks back at you through the car window. “Sorry I can't give you more, I got my own family to feed. Now go, do what you can.”

When the car drives off, you look around. Again, middle of nowhere but at least this time it's streets not a wheat field. Off into the distance, you see a man, holding items that look valuable. He must have time to spare. Why else would he be walking aimlessly around the street with valuable items in his hands? You start to walk towards him. 

_ Six minutes, fourteen seconds. _

You forget you're running out of time. You realize you're running out of time. You had been living your life so slowly, but now you didn't have the time to waste anymore. You start running towards the man, who turns a corner. You follow only a block behind and are hit with an apartment complex with a series of doors. Maybe the people who lived here had time to spare. You were desperate either way. You realize now you're going to die. It never occurred to you that death was a possibility. Your family had so much time. Centuries on centuries. But you had minutes. 

You start frantically banging on doors, “Help! I don't know where I am and I don't have much time left, please help!”

You go from door to door, banging and pleading but no reply.

_ Four minutes, twenty-seven seconds. _

“Please help me, I need some time, please just spare me some time,” you bang against the last door of the apartment complex. 

Suddenly, someone replies, “we all need time, sister. We all need time.”

“Please, I only need a few minutes,” you start to sob, your heart couldn't take it anymore and your eyes just poured out. You were losing time, “These men, they took me from my home and stole my time, please, I just need some more time.”

“What are you going to do, go after them?” The voice asks. 

You stop sobbing for a second and think back to those disgusting men, “I’ll find someone to go after them.”

You wanted them dead for the things they said about your family, regardless if they were true or not, “There must be mercenaries in this town. I just need enough time to hire one.”

The man’s reply caught you off guard and his voice was much closer than before, “Well you got one. Michael Jones, nighttime mercenary. But sorry, I’m not looking for any jobs right-”

You cut him off, “I’ll pay you 100 years.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Are you out of your mind?” Michael says to you through the door. “You really think I'm going to believe that?”

_ One minute, sixteen seconds. _

You bang on his door, “believe me! Please! I'm telling the truth, I have 100 years stashed away-”

The door opens and you're forcefully yanked into his apartment, practically crashing into his arms as he slams the door shut. You can see his time, exposed on his wrist by his rolled up sleeve.

_ One hour, thirty-one minutes, ten seconds _ .

“YO, you can't go saying out at night that you’ve got-”

You show him your clock.

_ Fifty-two seconds. _

“Will you help me?” You say to him in a shaky voice. “I don't have time to talk.”

Michael swallows hard, “I still don't believe you.”

“Well believe me!” You scream, talking faster than you've ever talked before, “why would I be lying? Why would I be wasting my last fucking breath talking about how I have 100 years stashed away if I was lying?”

_ Twenty-nine seconds _ .

“Where is it?” Michael says. “This stash of yours.”

“I assure you it's close by,” you say, trying to remember how close by.

“Do you even know where you are! You're in fucking Jersey! From the looks of it, you're probably-”

_ Twelve seconds. _

“Michael! I'm going to die in the next ten seconds if you don't give-”

Michael immediately grabs your wrist and gives you another two minutes. 

_ One hour, twenty-six minutes, fifty-two seconds. _

_ Two minutes, one second. _

“Don't waste my time,” he says to you. “Now talk.”

“My family stashed a 100 years inside every capital city. I know where all the locations are,” you say. “How long will it take to get to the capital from here?”

“I don't know, maybe twenty minutes?” Michael walks over and grabs a map of Jersey. He points to a small town, “Here's where we are, and there's Trenton. But that's by car.”

“You don't have a car?” You look at him funny, then slap yourself lightly on the forehead.

“Who the fuck can afford a car?” Michael rolls his eyes and sits down on his bed. “Fuck this was pointless.”

_ One hour, twenty-five minutes, twelve seconds. _

_ Thirty seconds. _

“Do any of your neighbors have cars?” You quickly ask.

“Yeah, one of them works delivery-”

You grab Michael’s wrist and take two more minutes, pulling him off the bed, “let's go get that car then.”

“Who the hell do you think I am? Some kind of charity?” Michael tries to grab your wrist to take the time back but you swat him away.

You lift your shirt to expose your belly button, where you have a nifty little piercing which has a giant diamond on it, “my family doesn't know about this gem. Worth maybe 50 years. Take me to whoever owns that car and I’ll give them this. 50 years is hard to say no to.”

“You’re assuming they have enough time to make it to the morning to pawn that diamond.”

“They must,” you say, dragging Michael out of his apartment. “You said they have a job. People with jobs have enough time to go to their jobs. He'll have enough time.”

Michael points to the apartment three doors down, “he lives there.”

“You know you’re coming with me,” you say as you take his hand in yours and walk with him down to the apartment, “in case I run out of time.”

“Wow, I'm actually your bitch right now,” Michael tries to pull away from your grip but is unsuccessful, “how the hell are you this strong?”

“Story time later, business now,” you knock on the delivery man’s door. 

“I can't give you any time,” the man says back. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not here to ask for time,” you say calmly. “I’m here to offer you time.”

_ One minute, three seconds _ .

“What kind of game are you playing?” The man says through the door. “One second, you have no time, the next-”

“I still don't have time,” you say to him, “but that's why this is more useful to you.”

You wave the diamond in front of the man’s peephole. 

“I don't know if I’ll survive until the morning, but I know you will,” you dangle the diamond then place it back in your palm. “It's worth 50 years, maybe more.”

The door immediately swings open and the man steps out. Michael moves for you to step slightly behind him. It must've been an instinct. 

“How do you know I won't just take it from you?” The man says, leaning forward.

“Because I know that a man with a job has something he cares about enough to keep living,” you reveal the diamond in your palm again. 

_ Thirty-two seconds _ .

“I don't have time to give, if that's what you want in exchange,” he scratches his head. “Only have enough to get me through tomorrow.”

“Then help me get through tonight,” you put out your other palm. “I need your car so I can find more time.”

“What? You going to drive aimlessly around? I pay for most of that gas.”

_ Five seconds. _

You squeeze Michael’s hand and he gives you another two minutes. He’s a little immersed in your conversation with this man, he can barely react. But thankfully, he snaps out of the daze in time to help you.

You let out a sigh of relief and say, “I can refill the gas, I promise. Now please, we’re both running out of time here.”

The man stands there for a second but nods and walks back into his apartment. When he comes back outside, he has his keys in hand and puts it in your palm, taking the diamond out of your hand. He's a little skeptical of its worth but he sees the desperation in your eyes so he believes you.

“Go get your time, and my gas,” the man smiles. “I'm glad you found someone who was willing to give you some time.”

“Willing, forced to, I really don't see the difference anymore,” Michael says and you pinch him in the arm. “Ow!”

“You deserved that,” you stick you tongue out at Michael then nod your head to the delivery man. “Thank you, I’ll bring your car back in one piece.”

“Good night, to the both of you. Take care of her.” 


	4. Chapter 4

The man shuts his door and you let out another sigh of relief. You and Michael walk to the man’s car when Michael bursts out.

“Jesus! You nearly gave me a heart attack. You're lucky that worked.”

You shrug, “it had to work. It was a killer diamond. Great teamwork by the way, A+ job Michael.”

“Oh shut up-holy shit, I just realized I don't know your name,” Michael gives you another couple minutes. It’s gotten pretty routine at this point for Michael to just willingly give you time since he needs you alive or you can’t get these years for him.

“Y/N,” you say, excluding your last name so he doesn't know too much about your family. 

“Well Y/N, if you aren’t dragging me out to be killed, you might actually be my savior,” you throw Michael the keys and hop into shotgun. Michael sits down and starts the engine, “I was really done for today.”

“How so?” You ask, “We’ve got a little free time, so spill.”

“My employer decided to bail on paying me today. I was supposed to get two months, now I'm down to my last hour,” Michael starts driving to Trenton, the capital of New Jersey. “So, what about you? How the hell did you end up here?”

“Got kidnapped,” you look down at your pajamas and then back out the window at the stars, shining peacefully in the sky. “Had all my time stolen, then got dumped here.”

“How much time was it,” Michael takes your hand and gives you another few minutes. He keeps your hand in his. You suppose it made it easier so you comply and hold his hand. It was warm and a little comforting.

“A thousand years,” the words slip out of your mouth so painfully. 

“You lost a thousand years?!” Michael nearly hits the brake by accident in shock. “How the fuck-”

“I just got them, a few weeks ago,” you scratch the back of your neck. “I just turned 25.”

“What?” He quickly glances over at you then back at the road, “aren't you rich people supposed to be centuries old by now?”

“Not me,” you look down at your feet. “I was adopted as a child. My parents had a financial scandal, so they gave me up so I could have a better life. My adopted family was centuries old but they wanted ‘new blood’ so they adopted me. I was the youngest out of all of them.”

“That's probably why you were a target,” Michael squeezes your hand, trying to make you feel better. “Sorry to hear that, Y/N. But you still had it a lot better than most of us here.”

“What about you?” You look back up at Michael. “Where's your family?”

“Never got to meet my parents,” he says. The tone of his voice is sad, “I was put in foster home after foster home until I was old enough to be recruited into a timekeeper boot camp. But I quit soon after I turned 25 and used those skills to do odd jobs.”

“Like mercenary work?” You interject.

Michael laughs, “yeah, like that shit. I only take jobs I believe in though. They have to be worth my time.”

“How old are you then?” You ask politely. “Sounds like you’ve lived quite a life.”

“I’m 25, real time,” Michael sighs. “If I make it, I’ll be 26 in two weeks.”

It's your turn to squeeze his hand and try to comfort him.

“Oh shit! Did I forget to give you more time?” Michael was about to transfer time when you stop him. 

“No, I ended up taking exactly half of yours last time,” you say nervously. “I was just trying to comfort you.”

“Oh,” Michael says, “that's-um, okay.”

“I-I mean, I don't have to if you don't want me to,” you pull your hand away from Michael’s.

He pulls it back into his, intertwining your fingers with his, “no, let’s stay this way. Please.”

You feel a blush creep up to your face and you thank the heavens that it's nighttime. You had never held hands with anyone before. All relationships in high society were superficial and never out of love. People had sex purely for the hell of it because they were bored. 

You realize now that you don't have much time left, life actually matters. That there are moments, like the one you're sharing with Michael holding his hand while driving aimlessly to find this capsule filled with time, that mattered. It was the little things that mattered. 


	5. Chapter 5

“So where is it?” Michael asks as you guys pass the Welcome to Trenton sign. 

“City Hall,” you tell Michael to turn into the next exit. “It’s hidden outside the building.”

“What stops people from stealing it?” He asks as he opens your door.

You look down at your time, then at Michael’s, “security measures.”

_ Twenty minutes, each. _

Michael glances down at his time, “shit, we better hurry.”

You grab his hand and start to sprint towards the building. Michael lets you lead him as you scan the building for the right spot. You feel the stone on the side of the building as Michael makes sure nobody is watching you.

“Gotcha,” you say, punching a stone slab. 

“Doesn't that hurt?” Michael walks up to you, looking at how the stone slab got pushed in. 

“Nah, that's how you know it's the right slab,” a translucent panel pops up. “They make it out of easily movable stone-like material. Lots of rich people do it.”

“So you're saying there more stashes like this?” Michael asks as you punch in a couple numbers.

_ Ten minutes, thirty-nine seconds, each. _

The panel flashes red and you curse under your breath, “you’ve got to be kidding me.”

“What? What happened?” Michael looks over you shoulder and see the red panel. “I thought you knew the code!”

“I do! Or, fuck, I did,” you rub your temples. “If what they said was true, they must've changed the codes.”

“If what who said-what?”

“My family,” you sigh, looking back at Michael, “the men who kidnapped me said my family hired them. If that were true, then this makes sense. They knew I needed time and if they wanted me dead, they would’ve changed all the passwords.”

“Y/N! We have less than 10 minutes before we’re both dead! What the fuck do we-”

“Shut up,” you put your hand over his mouth. “I don't have time to argue with you. I need to think.”

_ Eight minutes, eleven seconds, each. _

“We have two more tries,” you take in a deep breath. “If we fail those, it triggers an alarm that sends timekeepers straight for us.”

“Won't we be dead by then anyways?” 

“Yeah, I guess we would be,” you resist the urge to panic. Though that doesn't stop your brain from freaking out.

_ Seven minutes, twenty-five seconds, each. _

“It's a eight-number passcode,” you start thinking aloud, “it’s always an important date. The original code was the day I was adopted. I guess I'm not that important anymore.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Michael puts his arm around your shoulder, “don't think like that. If it is true that your family did this, well then, fuck them. They aren't your real family. So don't think about anything but getting this fucking time from them.”

You nod, “okay, okay. Another important date.”

_ Five minutes, forty-four seconds, each. _

“Maybe it’s my father’s birthday, or could it be my mother’s,” you think as hard as you can. “There's-there's just too many dates!”

“What about-what about your birthday? Maybe they wouldn't think you would put in your birthday!” Michael says nervously. The arm around you is shaky. Or maybe that was you. God, you were nervous too.

“Yeah, maybe it's my birthday,” you punch in your birthday.

Red panel.

_ Three minutes, five seconds. _

“Fuck!” You hit the stone and yank your hand back, feeling the pain surging through your hand. “God, real stone hurts like a bitch.”

“One more try,” Michael squeezes your shoulder. “You got this.”

“Michael,” you look up at him, the tears slowly running down your face. “I'm scared.”

_ Two minutes, twenty-one seconds, each. _

“You’re going to be okay,” Michael locks onto your eyes, “we’re going to be okay. Now please, I need you.”

_ Two minutes, each. _

You shake your head and sob into Michael’s chest, “we’re going to die, we’re going to die!”

“No!” Michael pulls you out and points to the panel, “Y/N, I did not just waste my last fucking hour driving with you to this stash if I didn't believe in you. I know you can figure this out. I know you won't waste my time.”

“What if-what if we die?” 

“Then we at least died trying,” Michael says, trying to stay strong. “I don't think I've ever felt more emotion in my entire life than I do right now. I’m about to die, but not without trying.”

_ Fifty-one seconds. _

“That's it,” you say, the realization hitting you. “It has to be today.”

“Today?” Michael questions you.

_ Thirty-nine seconds. _

“Yeah, the day I die,” you look up at Michael. “Or, maybe it's yesterday. Fuck, it must be either the day I got kidnap or the day I should be dead.”

“Well, which one is it!” Michael starts to breath heavy as he looks at his time.

_ Twenty seconds. _

“I don't know! I don't know! And if we’re wrong, we’re dead,” the words fall out of your mouth quicker than ever as you stare aimlessly at the panel. “Yesterday or today, which one is it.”

_ Eleven seconds. _

Michael grabs a hold of your hand then punches in today’s date. 

_ Ten seconds. _

The screen goes blank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh...ummm...well...that's concerning... 
> 
> It looks like I ended this update with a cliffhanger, like I always do...
> 
> I suppose you'll just have to stay tuned to find out what happens!! <3


End file.
